Yours For A Song
Title: Yours For A Song 6/9
Author: Hare (harefic@yahoo.com)
Fandom: Tolkien
Type: FCS
Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Can I choose to proclaim, rather than disclaim? Hear ye, Hear ye--they are not mine!
Timeline: Present day is Imladris Third Age, years 1973-1975. All flashbacks are in Gondolin First Age, years 505-510.
Warning: AU, angst, sex, kink that some might consider non-con, h/c, romance, sap and cookies…though not necessarily in that order.
Beta: Chaotic_Binky and Erviniae…simply the best.
Dedication: To Chaotic_Binky, Erviniae, and Weepingnaiad…my own archipelago of lovelies (for no writer is an island) who keep my tiny pond of our fandom silly, fun, and refreshingly kinky.
Author's Note: Hello, my name is Hare and I am a hopeless romantic. Seriously, I have exploded the sap-o-meter on this one! You are thusly warned, and I am resolved of any consequences should you choose to read. I am grateful to whoever put together the Elf Fetish website and name generator. Special thanks to Svengalliedhare, my niece and poetess extraordinaire for the songs and poem found within but the eagles and swans are all mine! Though I didn’t plan it this story is connected in a vaguely cosmic parallel universe way to several of my other Erestor/Glorfindel tales. Caveat lector!
Summary: What happens when Erestor discovers his well ordered, fully planned life is nothing of the sort?
Chapter 6
Imladris, III 1974
Frustrated and groggy, Erestor hesitated in the midst of his morning routine. It seemed he could not erase the taint of Glorfindel, neither in slumber nor arousal. His past stood before him like an infinite parasite; it would not surrender until it had consumed him alive.
He stood gazing into the dark cold space of the hearth and shook his head in disgust. Amongst the ashes laid two bright golden-colored petals. Not burned, not even singed but perfectly formed as if still attached to the living flower. The image offended him. He had expected all evidence from Glorfindel’s second gift to be destroyed so he hissed a *tsk*, extended his foot and stirred the ashes around until the petals were covered. When that did not fix the problem he bent down, picked up the hand broom, and swept everything into the bin. He then walked it to the corner of the room. Out of his sight finally, he could place his mind elsewhere and allow Gwennuial to empty it from his quarters.
Late again, he hurried from his rooms and through the corridors. No one hailed him. He kept his eyes straight forward. He had no desire to exchange pleasantries on this or any morning in the near future. Still, he could not ignore the excited mumblings he heard as he passed toward his office; something or someone had generated this perturbation.
Arriving out of breath and in a half run, Erestor slid to a halt when he came face to face with Gandalf. A long pipe dangled from his lips; lips raised in a welcoming smile so wide the skin around his eyes crinkled, and arms open to receive an embrace. Behind Gandalf, Elrond leaned against Erestor’s desk.
Erestor held back. He desired nothing more than to run into those arms, for Gandalf’s visits throughout the years had brought them a comfortable friendship, but he could not. Could not allow himself any emotion other than sorrow, too near was the source of his pain.
Gandalf cocked his head to the side, lowered his arms, frowned and removed the pipe from his mouth.
“I see. It is as bad as Elrond has said, my friend?”
“I do not know what Elrond has told you, Gandalf, but I assure you it is none of your concern.”
Lord Elrond moved past them both, softly closed the door, and then placed a firm hand on Erestor’s lower back. He gestured them towards the chairs. “Come, let us sit and speak.”
Erestor moved stiffly, and only with prompting, from his lord. He did not desire any further conversations regarding his personal endeavors or lack thereof. And certainly Gandalf had more pressing issues, as did he.
He had barely seated himself when Gandalf continued their conversation.
“You are wrong, Erestor. I do have a concern, several actually, regarding your misunderstanding with Lord Glorfindel.”
Erestor cut off his next statement. “There is no misunderstanding between us. I know exactly what he has done!”
Gandalf sat back and scrutinized Erestor. He met Gandalf’s stare for only a brief moment before he was compelled to look away.
“You know exactly what he has done?” Gandalf murmured. “That seems impossible in light of what I have been told by both Glorfindel and Elrond.” He appeared to contemplate before he spoke further.
“A question for you, chief counselor. Have you never wondered why I initiated a friendship with you? What possible reasons could I have? Granted you possess a fine mind and advise your lord well, but other than that who are you really? An elf with humble beginnings but no real pedigree or credentials except for an interesting musical past, and an ada with a fine head for business. Yet, on first arriving here, I clearly sought you out and ingratiated myself into your life. And I must tell you that I was and am completely disappointed by your lack of curiosity in my interest. For if you had asked, I would have explained. Glorfindel knew I would not lie to you, as I made it a condition of our agreement.”
Erestor’s attention focused on Gandalf. The old wizard played unknown games at times and he could not yet discern if this was one. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion but allowed a victory to his curiosity and asked, “What agreement?”
He saw Gandalf’s face brighten with faint hope. “Why the agreement to keep watch over you, of course. Ah, I can see you are surprised and yet had you opened your mind and questioned my motives, the truth would have been revealed to you long ago.”
Gandalf reached a hand behind his collar and withdrew a flask that hung from a chain. Cut into a multitude of facets, the container sparkled even in the window-filtered rays of Anor. Erestor could see it held a clear, viscous liquid that clung to the sides of the glass. And when it moved, it pricked his ears for he heard the faint whispers of a sob. The Maia leaned forward in his chair and thrust the flask toward him until it rested mere inches from his face.
“The tears of Nienna, shed for Glorfindel’s heroic fate, wept at the consequences and gathered for his benefit. Oh yes, the Valar dictated my first actions upon reaching the shores of Middle Earth…find Lord Glorfindel and offer him healing. And I have, every year for the past nine hundred and seventy-four, and Glorfindel has always refused. Yet, each time we met, Glorfindel did have one ongoing demand. A demand I am sure you can guess. Yes? Can you find it in your heart to speak the words, to accept that you have been wrong in your assessment of him?”
Erestor leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest. He turned his face away from Gandalf and towards the window. “It changes nothing.”
Gandalf blew a gale of frustrated breath before he tucked the flask back inside his shirt. “Foolish elf. Fool, fool, fool…” He continued to mumble before he abruptly cleared his throat and spoke loudly. “Lord Glorfindel has only one desire, to keep those he loves safe. And per his request, I came to you each year and monitored your safety and happiness. Oh yes, he especially needed to know if you had joy in your life. It mattered to him that you were not unhappy.
“He has kept every letter I sent to him regarding you, and he insisted on carrying them when he moved here. How unwise of him to worry about someone so selfish, who cares not enough to even listen --.”
Erestor stood and moved toward the window and glared out at the perfect day. The leaves displayed the effects of autumn and many wore a brilliant golden hue. How fitting. Erestor sighed in concert with Gandalf and he heard the shuffling of robes before a warm hand slid into his. It executed a gentle squeeze before it left him. Another pressed its solace to his shoulder.
When his office fell silent, he ran a hand across his face, turned to his desk and assembled the papers for today’s agenda. In another moment he would be forced to spend time with Glorfindel and it still distressed him all these months later. He could not deny the bond between them, could not shake it free from his being, and yet he could not allow it.
~o0o~
He recognized the signs in himself without delight; the heightened awareness, the constant looks for a glance his way, the secret smiles, being conscious of every moment of Glorfindel's presence, the warm wanted fondness he remembered from long ago. And he found he instinctively played for Glorfindel’s attentions, something he found very difficult to prevent. He had not felt this way since Gondolin and yet he could not allow it to come to fruition. No matter Gandalf’s words. Surely they meant nothing, only Glorfindel’s pathetic attempts to assuage his guilt.
Still, these disturbing desires crept through his mind with frightening regularity. He craved a touch, a thousand touches. Dreamed of putting his hands on Glorfindel’s chest to watch it rise and fall as he breathed, alive. To feel the warmth of life that pulsed through his body, to confirm he lived. Glorfindel remained the sum of all his yearnings, no matter how he wished it was not so.
The struggles continued daily and Glorfindel fed them. Today, an accidental touch, a heated stare in his direction, hints dropped in seemingly innocent conversations. It all served to keep him on edge and reactive. Their quarrels rang through the halls on many occasions, though the shouting alone came from him. Glorfindel remained utterly calm and soothing. Erestor found it all quite annoying and bitter. But the stinging fact remained that Glorfindel had clearly rejected his love once and would get no further opportunity to do so again. Gandalf, though wise, had no practical experience that he knew of in the ways of love and could never understand.
Yet though his mind continued to deny, here he was scurrying through the corridors once more, while a giddy light excitation sparked through him. Two small meaningful gifts had hooked him so securely that he spent his days thinking of what might await him each night. Fixated, he could not and would not break this habit, and he raced to his obsession.
He saw them on first entering his quarters, perched on the small table faced toward him and there were many.
Swiftly he strode the remaining distance and snatched up one of what appeared to be fifty or more statuettes. The likeness hinted that this was an ellon clad only in a shift, no coverings on his feet. Erestor picked up the second carving. This appeared to be an elleth in repose, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She was also dressed in a simple loose-fitting dress. The third was on its knees, eyes trained upward, mouth open, and arms raised above its head. He picked up a couple tangled in congress and marveled at the articulate designs until a distraught frantic laugh burst forth. He knew those faces!
Astonished, Erestor sat hard upon the floor and the statuettes tumbled into his lap. These were figurines of the First Awakening. Cautiously, yet smiling in amazed wonder, he picked up more of the carvings. The intricate detail spoke of long hours in the making. He had never seen Glorfindel carve nor had he ever indicated an interest in learning this art. But, Erestor acknowledged, much had changed about his former love. There were so many secrets he did not know, so many unanswered questions. So many “whys” floated through his mind each day and followed him into his dreams.
He tipped several over and immediately the embossed golden flower twinkled at him. One question, at least was answered. Artwork from Glorfindel’s own hands and Erestor had no doubt the message these conveyed. His advances grew bolder with each passing day and this gift showed how confident he must feel.
Erestor needed little prompting to recall the glorious memory, and he had no doubt Glorfindel absolutely knew that, but he read the accompanying line of the poem anyway.
“Yearning to trace every minute detail of your exquisite body, to once again be awakened…”
Unable to look away from the haunting words, a day from the past crowded its memories forward to the present.
*flashback*
Gondolin, I 507
Glorfindel ran behind him. The chase took them through the city, around the Square and all the fountains. He made straight away for the palace fountains and foolishly jumped into one. The pressure threw him a full fathom through the air before spitting him out into a large copse of bushes. But before Glorfindel could react, Erestor leapt to his feet and sprinted away, fleet of foot, out of breath, scratched and bleeding from dozens of minor wounds, but laughing hysterically. Behind him he heard Glorfindel’s astonished cry, “Maniac!” and it only served to fuel his euphoria.
Elves stopped to watch with open-mouthed awe or annoyance as they raced by. Some shouted encouragement to Glorfindel; others to Erestor.
Couples were allowed outrageous activities while courting. The one time an adult elf was granted what could only be termed willful public silliness, and they gleefully took advantage of this permission. Exhilaratingly happy, Erestor ran and taunted Glorfindel, boundless with life, energy and excitement.
Finally Erestor settled on a destination for a perfect end to this game…the Lake of Awakenings.
The valley of Tumladen was dotted with small ponds, remnants of an ancient body of water that had once filled the vale. In addition, Gondolin, well planned in every aspect, included a dammed portion of the small tributary of the Mindeb that flowed down from the surrounding mountains. The resulting large, deep lake served not only as a water source but teamed with aquatic kelvar and attracted migrating water fowl. It also lured those seeking a private nook for indecorous public activities.
But its ultimate striking features were the artworks that graced the edges of the lake. Statutes of the elf-fathers and all those original One Hundred Forty-Four stood around the perimeter of this lake. The most talented and sought after artists had painstakingly constructed each sculpture down to minute details. Their hues progressed through each station from those utterly stark white to those completely colored, including eyes inlaid with gems. Each scene gradually added more tints as the elf-fathers wandered and were joined by other awakened elves. Wrought from various rocks mined locally, the stones were chosen to match the coloring of skin and hair and clothing as envisioned by each sculptor. The sheer power and planning necessary to move the stones from quarry to each artist’s work room, and then to the edge of the lake, had taken decades. But the result was breathtaking and never failed to inspire the inhabitants of the hidden city.
Well out of the city now, he could hear Glorfindel gaining on him, playfully calling out all manner of evil doings that awaited Erestor upon capture. He craved Glorfindel would do exactly as he threatened. The mere thought caused his erection to enlarge and it rubbed painfully against his thigh, but he would not stop until he reached the area he sought.
As they crested the slight hill, he spied the first station of art. Two of the purest white marble statues gleamed starkly against the surrounding green of the land and the blue of the deep-watered lake. The original awakening scene depicted Imin on his knees, a serene look on his face, as he stared down at his sleeping wife, Iminyë.
Erestor streaked past to the subsequent scene, his head spun from exertion and he stumbled briefly. Here, Imin and Iminyë stood over a dazed Tata, whose grey eyes reflected his confusion. He was forever in a crouched position with his wife, Tatië, raised on an elbow beside him. Both figures carved from a stone of stainless white except for the gray gems as eyes.
Erestor continued on to the third grouping where both Imin and Tata stood with the third elf-father, Enel. Hands gathered in one tight grip, their mouths smiled and Tata appeared to be speaking. More color was added in this scene as dark or light hair graced their heads. Iminyë and Tatië knelt beside Enel’s wife, Enelyë, their hands on her shoulders, rousing her. The three elf-fathers and their wives were now fully awakened and together for the first time.
He rounded the curve of the lake and headed for the next scene. In this Imin, Tata, and Enel approached a group that stood close together, some with eyes trained toward the stars and several held up their arms in an expression of awe. Others gazed into the eyes of strangers who would soon become comrades or lovers, while still others tentatively touched. A few knelt at the water’s edge with a fingertip or a hand dipped into the water. Each carving bloomed with differently tinted tunics, eyes, and hair.
But even this inspiring scene was not the station Erestor desired. He continued on, his breath loud now and he felt Glorfindel’s hand skim down his hair and his back and give a playful swat to his rear. He yelped and moved faster, laughing breathlessly and exhilarated. He finally spied the group of elves he desired and sprinted even faster.
The perfect place, for the perfect ending, to a perfect evening. This penultimate grouping held special appeal to him for it depicted a large gathering of elves with mouths opened in song. According to legend, the artist in charge of this scene had personally known one of the elves from this group. She had carved the figurines exactly as he had remembered. Twenty-four pairs of elves, palms pressed against the palms of those who stood next to them and palms raised above their heads. The entire group was arranged in a large circle that appeared to sway. Their eyes were of the lightest blue that twinkled in the rays of Ithil, their hair the most golden-blonde, their mouths forever held in a rendition of pleasing smiles; while pristine joy radiated from their countenance. The elf-fathers and their wives stood amongst them.
He ducked under a pair of raised arms and entered the circle of statues, followed closely by Glorfindel, for he could feel the heat of his near body and hear his ragged breathing. Erestor changed his tactic and turned on Glorfindel…lunging!
“Oh!” cried out Glorfindel, his eyes widened in surprise as they fell back hard, Erestor on top. Immediately he brought his mouth down on Glorfindel’s, careful at first, then rough and greedy. He deepened the kiss before pulling away and brushing his lips over Glorfindel’s cheek.
Erestor flung off his tunic and lifted briefly to slide off his leggings, then reached down and mindlessly tore at Glorfindel’s clothing, until he too lay nude.
“You owe me a new outfit, Songmaster,” growled Glorfindel.
He felt Glorfindel brace as if to surge upwards, but Erestor shifted his weight and forced him back into a fully horizontal position. Bending down, he explored the hard curves of his love’s slender body. Gliding his tongue across Glorfindel’s chest he bit down on a distended nipple and smiled at the answering hiss. Apologetically, he sucked at the nub until the previous displeasure turned to needy moans.
It had not taken Erestor long to discern his lover’s preference for this type of play, and Glorfindel would be content to let him do it for hours. Early on he discovered that Glorfindel enjoyed lingering over pleasure and found a quirky sense of arousal in delaying their final release. Erestor was more often quite opposite, so they frequently fought to dominate the pace.
Slowly he slid downward and laid his full weight and length upon Glorfindel, and face-to-face, their mouths met in another kiss. Glorfindel’s rising voice broke the quiet; he could feel that noise like a series of lightning strikes flaring inside his groin. And then Erestor also broke, with a muffled cry, into Glorfindel's mouth. They explored each other gently, yet demanding; sweetly, yet urgent. Glorfindel parted his thighs; his arms embraced Erestor and ran sensually up and down his spine until they settled on his buttocks and encouraged his small thrusts. The touch sent little shocks racing through Erestor’s nerves and raised all the minute hairs on his skin. He shivered in response.
With steady pressure Glorfindel forced them together, shifting and rubbing they contrived a kind of sharp, dissonant music. Heavy excited breath scorched Erestor’s ear and then blew light, yet warm, on his face as Glorfindel put a hand behind his head and pulled him down for another kiss. He explored Glorfindel again, caressed the inside of his mouth, passionate and ardent, possessively, until Glorfindel moaned, sweet and capitulating.
“Someone might come,” Glorfindel murmured against his mouth when they paused to draw breath.
“Aye,” Erestor choked out with lewd indifference for this was their moment and an audience would be no impediment to their finale.
Glorfindel chuckled, the need in his voice low and raw. He brought his hand up to cup Erestor’s chin, and he in turn caught Glorfindel’s fingers and kissed them gently. Eyes dark with desire stared up at him pleading, and the ripening scents of lust pushed Erestor into a sitting position. He slowly ran his thumbs over Glorfindel’s silken flesh - his arms, his chest, his belly, and down towards the powerful curves of his thighs - feeling the music of Glorfindel's body under his fingertips. Glorfindel arched and presented himself. Erestor knew the touch he craved but refused him the gratification, for now.
“Please.”
The husky whispered plea was muted by Erestor’s finger over Glorfindel’s lips. Not often did he make such an open demand. Erestor smiled kindly, knowing the agony and thrill of delay, marveled that Glorfindel seemed unable to stall his release this eve, for this was Glorfindel’s own game.
Tonight it seemed that his too gorgeous lover, who at once could be mysterious and dangerous but also generous to a fault, preferred a more submissive role. And this was to Erestor’s liking. He reveled in the dichotomy of Glorfindel, slender and delicately graceful yet he possessed great physical strength. And a powerful sensuality that could change from frenzied participation to the sweetest most passionately thrilling seduction in the flicker of a candle’s flame. Erestor placed his ear on Glorfindel’s chest, strong and steady thumped the heartbeat of a killer, the heartbeat of a lover. Erotic sensations crawled across his skin and he shivered once more.
Arms braced on either side of Glorfindel’s face, he looked down on his wild creature of the night. The silent rays of Ithil, which drifted in and out of the gathering clouds, seemed to slide off his riotous hair, yet were caught and then reflected by Glorfindel‘s gleaming eyes. The wanton mouth a little fuller than normal, opened and closed as little gasps escaped and Glorfindel’s shaft pulsed hot against his belly, already hard and leaking for him.
Dreams were made of this.
A tight knot of yearning caught hold of Erestor and he breathed in the scent of Glorfindel, the scent that, these days, clung to every piece of clothing he removed at night.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. In response, his heart stormed thunderously, and Erestor fell against Glorfindel. Glorfindel’s breath left him in a long gusting sigh, and Erestor’s own groin throbbed heavy and slick as they slid across each other in a steady rhythm.
Skilled sure fingers lightly traced across Erestor’s entrance, questing, asking silent permission for entry.
Erestor tensed, relaxed and then grinned slyly.
“I am saving that,” he emphasized the word, “for the one special elf who slides a ring on my right index finger.” He wiggled said finger for dramatic presentation.
But Glorfindel, instead of smiling and acknowledging the humor, responded with a solemn nod of his head and a slight frown on his face. And before Erestor could explain, he found himself flat on his back, his shaft in Glorfindel’s firm grip and being guided into Glorfindel’s welcoming body.
His eyes closed at the tight entry then opened them wide at the exquisite feel of his cock deep, deep inside Glorfindel. He reached up and cradled him with gentle hands, smoothing away the lines of stress that wove Glorfindel’s face into a grimace. This was new to their relationship. Exciting and breathtaking he marveled each time his lover allowed this sacred union. Erestor knew with some lingering trepidation that someday he would return the bliss, equal participants in all things.
Their eyes still trained only on each other, Glorfindel began to slowly lift up and slide down. Quiet gratified moans symphonized with each distant thunder clap as he continued this steady rhythm and also began to thrust into the tunnel of Erestor’s hands. Eventually the gripping tautness eased and Erestor felt the moment Glorfindel relaxed fully and welcomed an increase to their pace. On a long exhalation, Glorfindel hissed out a strong satisfied sigh, and slumped forward slightly. Erestor saw the outline of intense pleasure marked upon his lover’s face, the strain of a painful breaching long gone. He lifted one hand and touched Glorfindel’s chest, and let it stroke down the velvet-soft skin, reaffirming and reassuring.
With a glance of simmering desire from Glorfindel, Erestor’s patience fled, and he could no longer lie passively. Thrusting hard upwards again and again, he broke the slow, languid rhythm and it became a struggle, wild, and desperate to please them both. Erestor’s body danced, wracked with tremors, and he trembled and muttered senselessly, while stars flitted before his eyes. With one last powerful shove, he burst with the pleasure.
Lightning flashed outlining Glorfindel in the perfect silhouette of ecstasy, head thrown back; hair a wild mane, as he thrashed in the sudden glare and a cry split the air along with the crash of thunder above. The images of Tata and Tatië behind him, their arms skyward as they too appeared to rejoice in their love, the after-images burned into Erestor’s mind. Feeling all Glorfindel’s muscle and skin and heart under his control was incredible but holding onto it as it came apart under his hands was utterly shattering.
A sudden, drenching rush of rain descended upon them. Glorfindel tumbled onto his chest, wet and panting and Erestor wrapped him in comforting arms.
They stayed that way through the night, bodies huddled in curves of each other’s embrace, protective and protected, and let the warm summer rain soothe and wash them clean.
*end flashback*
Erestor gazed out at the drizzle falling upon Imladris. He shivered even though Imladris lay wrapped in a surprising heat for mid-autumn. The memories seemed agonizingly real, but no matter how painful, he knew he would never forget their first fierce, sweet awkward coupling or any of those that had followed.
And then a surprised chuckle escaped him, for this memory was not yet complete. When they awoke that next morning it was to remember that Glorfindel’s clothing lay in tatters. Erestor had quickly donned his own shirt and leggings and dashed away before Glorfindel fully understood the implications.
Later, he reveled in the whisperings as Gondolin came alive with the gossip of glorious Lord Glorfindel proudly walking nude through the market place, stopping at stalls to barter food and drink, to break his fast, before strolling into his House. A debauched, shameless exhibition of self: pure Glorfindel.
And for years thereafter, Erestor encountered frequent glances of envy from elves who had witnessed Glorfindel’s infamous naked stroll. Looks that had begun anew now that the inhabitants of Imladris understood him to be the object of Glorfindel’s desire.
Parmasambe
Library of Imladris
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.